Washington And Beyond
by juho69
Summary: Just when you least expect it...


WASHINGTON AND BEYOND

_I ought to explain that this story is the tenth in a sequence and should be read after The Day After, and before Epilogue._

When they were to look back at the conference in Washington many years later, they would all agree one thing; it changed their lives. For the better. Jack had known they needed to all get away together, after all that had happened to everyone, and he could not have been more _correct_. They learnt a good deal at the daytime meetings, it was true, but, much more important was what they learnt about each other. They would bond in a way which they never could have imagined.

Jack shared a room with John, Martin with Danny, and Tim with Ben. Vivian had a room on her own but, as she said, she was so used to sharing her life with men that she was quite happy to have some peace for once! Joining up with their group were three of the London delegates whom they met on the first day and with whom they hit it off straight away: a married couple called Harry and Ruth and Malcolm, their friend. Jack said they used to work for the National Grid in London; however, the expression on his face rather suggested he knew something about them that he wouldn't divulge to anyone, not even Vivian.

"So – what brings you three here?" Tim had asked the first evening. They had finished dinner and were enjoying their coffee.

"We – ah – used to work for the National Grid," Harry replied.

"Yes – we had to take early retirement six months ago, owing to Harry's health," Ruth explained. She put her coffee cup down, and Vivian noticed an unnatural stiffness in Ruth's left arm as she moved.

"How long have you been married?" John asked.

"Three months," Harry replied gently. He looked down at Ruth, smiling slightly, and his fondness for her was there for all to see.

"It's like a second honeymoon for us," Ruth stated. She gazed up at her husband, smiling. It was clear they were very much in love.

"I retired two years ago," Malcolm answered, a trifle mysteriously.

_So what on Earth are they doing here, at this prestigious conference?_ was the question that came into the minds of most of the FBI Agents. However, theirs was not to reason why. Their new friends would tell them as and when they wanted, all in good time.

Every morning, they would race each other to see who could be first down to breakfast (Danny and Martin won most times.) After the first few days, the kindly hotel staff pushed the tables together, so they could sit as one big group, and it became part of their daily routine. They would spend the days on their own, going to the different meetings and speeches, sometimes two or three of them joining for lunch, then, they would meet up in the evenings, either at one of the receptions or in one of their rooms.

On the fifth evening, they had all met in Tim and Ben's room after dinner. They had spent perhaps the first half-an-hour chatting; then, Martin had picked up Tim's guitar, which he had brought on the trip with him. There had been a few quips about Tim feeling the need to bring his guitar to Conference; but then, Martin had started strumming the guitar and the evening would be changed forever.

"Didn't know you played the guitar, Fitzy," Danny commented, impressed.

"I had lessons at school for a few years," Martin replied. "But the last time I played was a long, long time ago."

"_A long, long time ago_

_I can still remember how that music used to make me smile_

_And I knew if I had my chance_

_That I could make those people dance_

_And maybe they'd be happy for a while._

_But February made me shiver_

_With every paper I'd deliver,_

_Bad news on the doorstep;_

_I couldn't take one more step._

_I can't remember if I cried_

_When I read about his widowed bride,_

_But something touched me deep inside_

_The day the music died._

_So bye-bye, Miss American Pie,_

_Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry,_

_Them good old boys were drinking whisky and rye,_

_Singing, This'll be the day that I die,_

_This'll be the day that I die…._"

Gradually, they had all joined in, with the help of some lyrics Tim had hastily printed off the computer. Next, they had sung 'Hotel California' with Jack reading out the words and the rest of them copying. Then, Ben had had the bright idea of finding the songs on YouTube, so they were able to sing with accompaniment. One by one, everyone joined in; then, people had started offering to sing on their own….All of them were enraptured and really got into the spirit. Singing is the purest expression of one's character and feelings. They could never have imagined they would have been brought so close together by something so pure and simple.

Amongst everything, they would remember for a long time Vivian's rendition of _'It's Getting Better'_ by Mama Cass Elliot, which she dedicated to Marcus; Jack's of _'The Last Farewell'_ by Elvis Presley; and, in contrast, Malcolm's quirky renditions of _'Boum'_ and _'La Mer'_ by Charles Trenet. Seriousness combined with energetic humour, with Danny, Martin and Ben standing on the beds, leading the actions for _'Hey Baby'_ by DJ Otzi and Cliff Richard's _'Do You Wanna Dance?'_! Big John sang _'Delilah'_ and _'Stand By Me'_. Even the dour-looking Harry was transformed in his performance of _'Sweet_ _Caroline'_, whilst his wife Ruth sang the thoughtful _'Where Have All The Flowers_ _Gone?'_ Vivian and Ruth had liked each other on sight and had spent a good deal of the week chatting to one another. So, they decided to duet with _'The Shoop Shoop Song'_ which, being the only two females and outnumbered eight to two in their group, they dedicated to all the men in their lives – "We can't get away from them!" It was most enthusiastically received!

At one point in the evening, Harry suddenly suffered a nose-bleed; Ruth reassured them there was no cause for concern, he had them fairly frequently, especially since his illness, and they retired to the bathroom to sort it out.

"They don't work for the National Grid," Vivian declared sceptically, as the door closed behind them.

"They're far too clever," observed Danny.

Martin leaned forward and addressed Malcolm. "What do you really do?"

Malcolm gazed up at the ceiling. "_'Tis better to be silent and thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt._"

They all looked at Jack. Jack pretended to look surprised; then he shrugged and said,

"I plead the Fifth Amendment."

"Before we go, I'd like to do just one more song," Tim stated. He picked up his guitar and looked towards Ben. "Could you turn the lights down, please?"

Ben did as he was asked, slightly surprised, though he guessed Tim had planned what he was going to sing.

Tim checked the tuning of his guitar; then, he started to play a familiar tune. They all knew it; all guessed why Tim had chosen it to play it last in that truly wondrous evening; and all settled down to listen - and reflect.

"_I heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played and it pleased the Lord,_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?…"_

Jack thought of his ex-wife Maria, his hurt and anger at her abandoning of him, and the day when, in a mixture of pure frustration and anger, he had thrown a chair through the glass partition in the office.

"…_It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,_

_The minor fall, the major lift,_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah…"_

He thought of his beloved daughters Hannah and Kate; he prayed they might find good husbands and make happier marriages than he and their mother had.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah; Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah."_

"_Your faith was strong, but you needed proof,_

_You saw her bathing on the roof,_

_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you…"_

Martin considered Samantha; he had thought her beautiful, in looks and spirit, but it had all been only superficial; she had just used him.

"_She tied you to a kitchen chair, _

_She broke your throne, she cut your hair,_

_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah…"_

She had held him captive; made him think she did want their relationship to succeed; made demands of him physically, which he now bitterly regretted; then dumped him.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah; Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah."_

"_Maybe I've been here before,_

_I know this room, I've walked this floor,_

_I used to live alone before I knew you…"_

Danny remembered how happy he had been when Elena had moved in with him, happier still on their wedding day. He was so glad that after so many years, he'd found someone to share his life with.

"_I've seen your flag on the marble arch,_

_Love is not a victory march,_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah…"_

All he could then see was himself, sitting alone on the floor of their apartment after she'd gone, leaning against the wall, crying heartbrokenly.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah…"_

For a few moments, Martin and Danny both felt desolate; then, they suddenly realised they were leaning against each other.

"…_Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah."_

"_There was a time you let me know_

_What's really going on below,_

_But now you never show it to me, do you?"_

Vivian recalled the day she learned she was ill and how her first reaction had been not to tell Marcus and Reggie because she didn't want to worry them; it had always been her nature.

"_And remember when I moved in you,_

_The holy dark was moving too,_

_And every breath you drew was Hallelujah…"_

She could remember being with Marcus the night before her operation, when he had just sat there holding her in his arms in silence; and chided her stubborn self for letting it come to such a serious situation as that for her to realise what a truly exceptional man she had for her husband.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah; Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah."_

"_Maybe there's a God above,_

_And all I ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you…"_

Jack, Vivian, Martin and Danny recalled all the times they had had to open fire, sometimes fatally…

"_And it's not a cry you can hear at night,_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light,_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah."_

.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah…"_

Harry and Ruth held hands tightly.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah…"_

Malcolm and John bowed their heads.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah…"_

Tim and Ben closed their eyes.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelu-jah."_

The last chord faded away. The room was silent and still. Nobody stirred. They wanted to stay in the peace, hold the moment for ever….

Finally, Tim lowered his guitar. Gradually, the others started to move.

"Well – good night."

"See you tomorrow."

"First for breakfast!"

"Good night."

"Night."

Martin and Danny returned to their room. Quietly, they got ready for bed. Martin was in first and was reading his book when Danny joined him.

"That was quite an evening," Danny reflected.

"I'll always remember it," Martin replied, quite sincerely.

"Hey - "

"Yes?"

"_Bye, bye, Miss American Pie_."

"_Do You Wanna Dance?!_"

Blue eyes met brown, tired but happy; and they both smiled.

Danny lay in his bed, facing the wall, snug under the covers. Behind him, he was aware of the bedside light still on, and Martin reading. But, it was a warm light, not at all an intrusive one, and it was illuminating the strong, comforting figure of Martin. Lulled by a Hallelujah, for the first time in many weeks, Danny slept deeply and dreamlessly.

On the sixth night, they had the formal dinner; on the last day, they decided to have a special lunch together, to remember not only the conference but to celebrate and cement the bonds of friendship which had been formed. Talking to each other, it seemed they had known each other for ever. It seemed incredible that two weeks ago, the two groups had never even met.

Towards the end of the meal, Malcolm tapped a glass with his spoon and stood up. Everyone listened.

"On behalf of Harry, Ruth and myself, I would like to extend my grateful thanks to all of you for making this such a memorable occasion for us. When we arrived last week, we really didn't know what to expect – but, we've been enriched; not just in what we've learned at the Conference but in the welcome and friendship which you have all extended to us so warmly and genuinely. These are reciprocated most wholeheartedly so, whenever any of you are next in London, we look most forward to seeing you, at the – ah – National Grid. Thank-you so very, very much."

Smiling broadly, everyone applauded. Jack, Vivian, Martin, Danny, John, Tim and Ben exchanged looks! But it didn't matter.

As Malcolm sat down Jack, in response, rose.

"Thank-you. Malcolm – Ruth – Harry. The feeling is more than mutual. I speak, I'm sure, for us all when I say it's been a wonderful week. Conference was enjoyable – but there was much more. I know I found a side of myself I'd almost forgotten existed and I think the rest of us did, too. And you all reminded me of one of the most important things there is: true friendship. As I've got older, one lesson I've learnt is, you don't have to be related to someone to be their family. Your family can be your friends. And, I am truly proud to have you all as my friends. You mean as much to me as my own family and" - here Jack's voice became husky – "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Vivian felt tears pricking the back of her eyelids. For Jack to admit that…

"So – I'd like you all to charge your glasses, be upstanding and join me in a toast. Everyone rose. "To friendship."

"_FRIENDSHIP_."

The chink of ten glasses could be heard.

The last morning was one of farewells. E-mails, addresses and 'phone numbers were exchanged, with promises to keep in touch and invitations to visit (which, incidently, happened the next February when Tim and Ben had to fly to London on FBI business).

They all had flights around the middle of the day (Jack, Vivian, John, Tim and Ben back to New York; Harry, Ruth and Malcolm back to London) except for Martin – who was going to call in at his parents' home to deliver a parcel of books – and Danny.

"Are you going to come, too?" Martin had asked Danny, when he first broached the subject.

Danny wasn't sure. He wanted to go, in a way – but, he felt awkward. Martin's family were so wealthy. Still – it'd be rude not to, after Martin had been so kind to him.

"Yeh – okay."

Martin had smiled, as if he had guessed what was on Danny's mind; but, he didn't push it.

His father had arranged for a car to be left for them at the hotel. Martin said it would take about twenty minutes for them to drive to the house. All too soon, as least as far as Danny was concerned, the car turned right into a driveway leading up to a largish but certainly not pretentious house. The Fitzgerald mansion, mused Danny. Almost at once, he chided himself for the thought. _Don't be so prejudiced, man_. _You should_ _have learnt your lesson about that by now!_

Martin switched off the car engine and pulled on the handbrake. He waited a moment; then looked up at Danny.

"You coming in?" he asked.

Danny looked awkward again. He wanted to, but…

"No worries. I won't force you. Still – I'd like you to see the house where I grew up some day." Martin opened the car door, picked up his parcel of books and got out. Danny watched him walk the few steps to the front door, unlock it and disappear into the house.

Danny leaned back into his seat and took a deep, deep breath. He shut his eyes. For the first time in many months, he was starting to feel at peace.

He reflected on the many lessons he had learned in the last few months. They had not always been easy ones. Perhaps the hardest was that there are some people who are beyond your help. Even though you try and try, at the end of the day, if they are not willing, there is little you can do. Danny had struggled with this so much. It seemed to be in direct contradiction of Christian teaching, as well as his own kind nature. He had talked at length about this with Father Walker so many times. The priest – and Danny felt so sure he was speaking from experience – said there comes a point when you have to stand back from a destructive situation, put yourself first and let the other person go. All you can do is put him or her into God's hands.

As he had now done with Elena. Danny had had to try to come to terms with the painful truth that she had not loved him enough to put him before anyone else. If she had really loved him, she would have said so straight away, she would have been honest with him, rather than playing with his emotions and deliberately hurting his feelings.

Elena. It was the first time he had thought her name out loud since she had left him. He supposed that was some sign of him coming to terms with what had happened – although he knew he would be bruised for quite some time.

But, at least this time, he had friends - Jack, Vivian and Martin - close, true, wonderful friends, who would help and comfort him. He no longer had to grieve alone. He could let out his emotions without reservation and he knew there would always be arms for him to cry in. Reassuring too were the new friendships which were growing with John, Tim and Ben. He felt supported and strengthened.

I wonder if I will ever marry? Danny wondered. _So what, man_? was the thought which came suddenly to his mind. _Would you rather be married, unloved and miserable – or a bachelor, loved by your friends and happy?_ Think of all the great people in the world who were able to do so much because they were not married, all they gave – like Sister Angelina and Father Walker - and think of how much poorer the world would be without them.

Danny thought, again, about his friendship with Martin. Never, never, would he have believed in a thousand years that he would end up being best friends with a well-off, white-collar college boy whose daddy was Deputy Director of the FBI. Yet, he had come to realise, with experience, that rich kids had their own problems – different ones, sure – but problems nonetheless. If he had been asked to name the last of his co-workers who would become an addict, he would have said Martin. Martin, the steady, reliable, intelligent, reticent one – who would ever have thought he would have had problems he couldn't solve?

Martin had once commented that men in his family were not into the "close" thing. For the first time, Danny realised that it must have taken a heck of a lot in recent months for Martin to have put his arms around him, ruffled his hair, let him cry into him, held his hand and hugged him. Martin would always be reticent about displaying his emotions – but, he had, obviously, come to realise that sometimes, in private, a man needed to, and it was all right. He hoped, one day, if the occasion ever arose, he would be able to return the compliment. He realised why Martin had become his best friend.

He looked towards the house. Martin had been gone around ten minutes and had still not reappeared. For a moment, Danny made to get out of the car and go and knock on the door – but, his shyness retook hold of him. He glanced at the car clock: 11:13. Well, he would wait till the clock said 11:15 and, if Martin had not come back by then, he would go inside.

The minute or so ticked by, the beautiful oranges and reds of the leaves on the trees shining in the November sunlight. Danny looked at the clock again: 11:15. He opened the car door.

Almost at once, he hesitated. There's no point. Martin'll be back in a minute.

No, go on.

Danny pushed open the car door and clambered out. The warm sunshine spread over his face and relaxed his shoulders. He walked slowly towards the front door. To his left, he passed a little powder blue car parked up near the garage.

He walked up the steps and went to knock on the door. To his slight surprise, he realised it was not closed. He pushed it open.

A large – but not too large – hallway revealed itself. It had a wooden floor and was decorated with pale blue and cream striped wallpaper. Long, royal blue curtains hung at the windows. There were two tall book-cases, one on each side of the room. There was a large bureau atop of which stood the model of a ship and a couple of inlaid wooden tables. A Grandfather clock stood near the foot of the stairs. Doors to the other rooms led off the hallway and a winding staircase led upstairs. However, like the outside, it was smart but not pretentious – as if its owners were content with their lot and felt no need to display their wealth. If he had not known he was in Washington, Danny would have thought he was in England. He supposed this shouldn't have surprised him; many people, most of all Vivian, referred to Martin as "a young English gentleman" – something which, Danny knew, pleased Martin very much. His having been brought up in this house would partly go towards explaining this.

Danny turned towards the bookshelf to his right and glanced at some of the titles. Some were on military or political history; he noticed there were several on past Presidents, most notably Nixon, Reagan and George Bush Sr. _All Republicans_, realised Danny. _Am I surprised?!_ There were also some religious books, mostly Roman Catholic in flavour, including one on the life of Saint Paul and another on Pope John Paul II.

Suddenly, he noticed at the end of that shelf two, quite small, paperbacks. The larger was dark brown and was a book on The Lives of the Saints. He took it down and flicked through it. There was a Saint allocated for each day of the year and, on many of the pages, someone had added a few handwritten comments in pencil. The other was light blue and he could just read its title: _The Hiding Place_ by Corrie Ten Boom. It seemed rather incongruous, tucked away there. Curious, Danny withdrew it. On the front cover was a picture of a young man unloading a trolley outside a shop but it gave no indication of the book's contents. He turned it over. On the back was a photograph of an elderly lady whom, from reading the synopsis, he quickly realised was Corrie Ten Boom and she had risked her life hiding Jews in Holland during the Second World War.

His interest caught, Danny opened the book. On the inside front cover was written, in blue ink, in the same handwriting, the words, "A great comfort."

To whom? wondered Danny. It wasn't Martin's handwriting. And why?

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. He would ask Martin where the books came from later. He closed the book and put it back on the shelf, ready to go.

"Hello! You must be Danny," said a voice.

A lady's voice. Must be Martin's mother. Anticipating a polite greeting, Danny turned round.

And he stared…

Danny stared…

…and he stared.

Standing there in front of him was the loveliest girl he had ever seen in his whole life.

She was small, with light brown hair the same colour as Martin's neatly tied back in a little pony-tail. She was wearing a jumper, skirt and rimless glasses, through which looked steady and comforting blue eyes. Most of all, she radiated an aura of reassurance and calm, which Danny seemed to feel reaching out to him as he gazed at her. She was not conventionally beautiful - she was a little too plain for that - but to Danny, she resembled an oasis in a desert.

He felt as if he were drifting away, sinking into a warm, relaxing bath; then rising to the surface and floating high above, like a cloud…

"Get a grip on yourself, man," he self-chastised. But, nothing seemed to be able to stop the darts of desire which were now hitting him in the stomach, one following the other…

"You are Danny, aren't you?" the girl entreated. "Martin said you were probably down here."

Danny continued to stare. For someone usually so chatty, at that moment, words simply failed him. Finally, he asked, stupidly,

"Mrs. Fitzgerald?"

The girl laughed shortly. "No! I'm not her. I'm Francesca. Martin's younger sister."

Perhaps concerned by his lack of replies, she queried,

"Is everything all right?"

Finally, Danny found his voice.

"Yes – thank-you."

His voice sounded weird, high-pitched. It sounded as if he were high on something. Which he was. High on love…

Just then, from the back of the house, Martin reappeared. "Oh, I see you two have met." He looked at his younger sister. "Mom's very pleased with the books – specially the cake-making one."

"I'll have to borrow it," answered Francesca. She looked at Danny. "Do you like cakes?"

Danny didn't reply. His eyes hadn't left Francesca for one moment. Finally, he said,

"What?"

"He loves them," Martin commented. "Specially chocolate brownies. Don't you, pal?"

Danny continued to gaze at Francesca. "What?"

Martin looked closely at Danny. "Hey, are you all right?"

Danny blinked his eyes. He shook himself. "Yes – I'm fine." Except he felt as if he were floating, floating, up and away on a cloud…

"We were just talking about Thanksgiving, and what we're doing on Sunday," Francesca continued. "You'll join us, won't you?"

Of course…See you again, in four days?…OF COURSE…

"Yes - please."

It still didn't sound like him. It sounded like some awkward schoolboy, with a crooked tie and scraped knees, in the playground, kissing his first girl friend…

"Well, we'd better go," announced Martin.

Danny nodded. He took a few steps backwards, towards the front door, still gazing at Francesca. He hadn't noticed the small table behind him, on which were a table lamp and a book. He backed straight into it. The table went flying, the lamp fell one way, the book the other, and Danny ended up in a heap on the floor.

Francesca and Martin both laughed…_Sweet, fairy laughter_…Francesca walked forward and knelt down. "Here, let me help you."

"No – no – " Danny scrabbled to his knees and attempted to right the table. On the same level, their heads almost touched and, once more, Danny found himself gazing into Francesca's steady blue eyes, like a love-sick puppy. Between them, they put the book and lamp back on the returned table. Danny managed to rise to his feet.

"See you Sunday, then," said Francesca, smiling warmly.

"Yes. Bye-bye," Danny whispered. Still in a daze, he backed out of the front door and pulled it shut behind him.

Martin and Francesca watched him go. Now a little puzzled, Francesca turned to her brother.

"I thought you said he never stopped talking?"

"He doesn't," Martin replied, slightly mystified. He looked at his sister. Something seemed to be dawning on him.

"You know what, little sister? I think he's fallen in love with you."

Francesca laughed shortly. "Don't be crazy. After meeting me once?"

"There's such a thing as love at first sight…"

Francesca shook her head and folded her arms. "Marty, I don't even know him." Martin smiled naughtily. "Marty, you call in here for twenty minutes one morning and I have you trying to pair me off with your best friend!"

"Well, what could be better? He needs someone like you to look after him." Francesca glared. "You can have a nice chat on Sunday. Get to know each other a bit better."

"All right, I don't mind being friendly. But I could never marry him. He's divorced."

"He's getting his marriage annulled," Martin continued quietly. "And he had a civil wedding anyway, so it's not recognised in the eyes of the Church…"

"Martin Fitzgerald, I could slap you!" Martin laughed and pretended to dodge his sister. Their eyes met. Steady blue looked into steady blue; then, Francesca said quietly,

"Well – he is kind of cute."

Danny wandered back to the car. He was in a complete daze.

He had left the car a shy, nervous and slightly apprehensive young man. Now, he was returning a completely different person.

Francesca…Francesca…Francesca…

He reopened the car door and sat back down with a bump on the seat he had left not ten minutes ago. Blinking his eyes, he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

_She is the loveliest girl I have ever seen in my whole life._

Martin drove the car back to the airport, where they boarded the plane back to New York. Danny said practically nothing all journey. When they got back to Martin's apartment, Danny asked,

"D'you mind if I just go to my room for a bit?"

"Not at all," Martin replied.

He watched his best friend disappear into his bedroom; then he smiled, a long, satisfied smile.

Well, who would have thought it?

Contrary to what the others probably thought, Martin had not engineered the earlier meeting between his best friend and his younger sister. Fact was, he didn't even know that Francesca would be there when they called; neither was he at all sure that Danny would come into the house. But, by some miracle, they both had, and it was a miracle, because something special had clearly happened between the two…

Martin wheeled his case into his bedroom, then returned to the living-room and eased himself down on to the sofa. He would unpack later.

He switched on the television and began to flick around the channels; then he picked up the TV guide. See if there's anything worth watching. He noticed on one of the documentary channels, started five minutes ago, there was a program called _Painted Babies: Growing Up_. I wonder what that's about. He found the channel on the guide on the screen and pressed the button. After watching a few moments, he realised the program was about two girls who had been child beauty queens, and it was showing what they were doing in their lives now, twelve years later.

They had been interviewing the first girl, now seventeen, at home with her brothers and sisters; now the scene was switching to the prestigious boarding school the second girl attended, in her dormitory where they were just starting to interview her and she was appearing on screen.

"_Did you enjoy doing the pageants?"_

"_Yes, I did. I enjoyed it very much…"_

Martin didn't hear any more.

He just stared…

…and he stared…

…and he stared.

Sitting there in front of him was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life.

She had honey-blonde hair, brown eyes and the most beautiful smile. She was wearing a black blouse with a red velvet sash, her blonde hair cut neatly and falling around her low-cut neckline…She spoke pleasantly but assuredly and intelligently. _"I_ _always want to be perfect, I'm a perfectionist…"_ Martin leaned forward in his chair. He felt himself drawn to her like a magnet. He could not take his eyes off her. A long-forgotten dart of desire hit him in the stomach.

He watched the remainder of the programme with intensity. When it finished, with a final shot of the girl –Brooke was her name – at her home, it felt as though a light had gone out.

"_Do you feel like getting married?"_ the interviewer had asked her.

"_Yes, of course. I hope so."_

"I have to meet her," Martin said out loud.

_What on Earth are you saying? You want to meet a girl you don't even know? What happened to the Fitzgerald caution?_

But how - ?

Mark…of course…

Martin reached for his cell 'phone and dialled the selected number. He waited.

"Hello, Mark? It's Martin…"

Martin clicked the 'phone shut. Slowly, he leaned back in the sofa and reflected on his actions.

He could not believe what he had just done. He had just arranged, through his college friend Mark, who worked at the tv station, to meet the girl Brooke. By a miraculous chance, she was visiting the studio next week to do a follow-up interview.

I don't even know this girl. She lives in Tennessee – miles away. The programme's dated two years ago so she's probably at college now. She'd only be nineteen – fifteen years younger than I am. What would her parents say? What would his parents say? I must be ripe for Bedlam.

But…there was something about her which had caught him. Something deep inside him, something he could not quite fathom, something which was making him throw his usual reticence completely to the winds, something which told him that he could not let this pass. He just had to try.

Martin had studied classics at school and at university, and one Latin phrase which one of his tutors, Mr. McAllister, had often imparted to them, shouted at him now.

_CARPE DIEM_

Danny sat on his bed, his back against the wall, gazing into the distance. Did what he thought happened at Martin's house really happen?

He reached out and picked up Bruno, his teddy bear. Most nights, Bruno came in bed with him and was a source of great comfort. Today, however, there was something else he wanted to share with him. Smiling, he jumped Bruno up and down on his lap and clapped his paws.

He slid off the bed and went over to his CD player. He knelt and looked through his collection of CDs. In the past few months, he had been consoled by listening to gentle music. Today, though, he was looking for something different.

He found the one he wanted, opened the player and put it in. He programmed it then switched it on. Within a few seconds, the song filled the room. It was Vivian's favourite, by Mama Cass Elliot: _It's Getting Better_. Danny held Bruno by his front paws and danced him to the rhythm on his lap.

_Once I believed that when love came to me,_

_It would come with rockets, bells and poetry,_

_But with me and you,_

_It just started quietly and grew,_

_And believe it or not, _

_Now there's something groovy and good 'bout whatever we've got._

_And it's getting better,_

_Growing stronger…_

Danny held Bruno close to his face and smiled.

"I think I'm getting better, Bruno."


End file.
